The Buccaneer - A Tale

The old man, who had launched their fairy boat, turned towards where

once Cecil Place had stood. From some peculiar feeling in the bosoms of

Sir Walter and Lady Cecil, for which it would not be difficult to

account, only a portion of the old structure remained--sufficient, and

just sufficient, to lodge Robin, and Robin's wife, and Robin's

father-in-law, and Robin's children. The fine old gateway was fast

crumbling to decay, and, indeed, it was well known that a kindly

sentiment towards the Buccaneer decided Sir Walter on keeping even so

much of the place standing, as the old man's only wish now was to die in

the Isle of Shepey; and it will be readily believed that Hugh Dalton's

wishes were laws to the family of Cecil. The trees had in many places

been levelled, and the only spot which remained perfectly untouched in

the gardens was one called "The Fairy Ring." The neighbouring peasantry

believed that it was hallowed by some remembrance of which both Lady

Cecil and Barbara partook; for the latter tended every herb and flower

therein with more than common care--with perfect devotion. Did we say

there was but one spot cherished? faithless historians that we are!

there was another--a rustic temple; and, about ten years before the

period of which we now treat, something resembling an altar had been

erected therein, with a quaint device carved in white stone, a braid of

hair encircling two hearts, and a rhyme, or, as it was then called, a

posy, the words of which are not recorded, but were said to have been

written by Lucy Hutchinson, as a compliment to her friend Constantia

Cecil.

The old man, as we have said, turned towards Cecil Place, which then

presented only the appearance of a small and picturesque dwelling.

Issuing thence were two persons whom we may at once introduce as the

manikin, Robin Hays, and the little Puritan, Barbara Iverk, of our

story. Manikin, indeed! He of the gay pink doublet, silken hose, and

plume hat, would little thank us for the term! He was rather over than

under-dressed, more fine than might be expected in a country gentleman

in so lonely an island; but it was evident he loved finery, and loved to

deck his own person: his long black hair curled naturally and gracefully

over his shoulders; his eyes had more to do, during latter years, with

love and home, than with hate and adventure; consequently they sparkled

with pure and kindly feeling; and if sometimes sarcasm lighted its

beacon within their lids, it was quickly extinguished by the devoted

affection and gratitude of his right excellent heart. His figure

appeared much less disproportioned than when first we saw him taunted

into fury in his mother's hostelry by poor Jack Roupall's ill-timed

jests on his deformity: he was much stouter; and the full cavalier dress

was better calculated to hide any defects of person, than the tight

fitting vests of the bygone Roundheads, who looked to every inch of

cloth with a carefulness altogether scouted by their more heedless

successors. He had a free and open air, and a smile of dazzling

brightness. What can we say of Barbara? Female beauty is seldom

stationary; there is no use in disguising the fact, that after

twenty--dear, sweet, fascinating twenty! the freshness of the rose is

gone. We have said freshness--not fragrance. Fragrance to the rose, is

what the soul is to the body--an imperishable essence, that lasts after

the petals have meekly dropped, one by one, upon their mother-earth. A

blessing upon the fragrance of sweet flowers! and a thousand blessings

upon the power that gifted their leaves with such a dowry! Oh, it

partakes of heaven to walk into the pastures and inhale the goodness of

the Lord, from the myriad field-flowers that gem the earth with beauty!

And then in sickness! What, what is so refreshing as the perfume of

sweet plants? We speak not of the glazed and costly things that come

from foreign lands, but of the English nosegay--(how we love the homely

word!)--the sweet briar, lavender, cowslip, violet, lily of the valley,

or a sprig of meadow sweet, a branch of myrtle, a tuft of primroses, or

handful of wild thyme! Such near the couch of sickness are worth a host

of powdered doctors! Again we say, a blessing on sweet flowers! And now

for one who loved them well, and learnt much wisdom "from every leaf

that clothed her native hills." Barbara was no longer the slight,

delicate girl, tripping with an orderly but light step to do the

behests of those she loved; but a sober, diligent, affectionate matron,

zealous in the discharge of her duty, patient in supporting pain,

whether of mind or body; a sincere Christian, a kind mistress, a gentle

daughter, a wise mother, but, above all, a devoted, trusting wife, still

looking upon Robin--her Robin, as the English Solomon,--a system we

advise all wives to follow--when they can. The manner in which this

truly pious woman yielded to all her husband's whims was almost

marvellous--one of the miracles of that miracle-worker--LOVE! With the

simple, yet discriminating tact, of itself a gift from nature, which no

earthly power can either bestow or teach, she understood the wishes of

Robin almost before he was himself acquainted with his own thoughts. And

had she been on her death-bed, that excellent creature could have

declared before Him, to whom all things are known, that "God and her

husband" had been her true heart's motto.